


A Bad Idea

by FairyNiamh



Category: Friday the 13th: The Series
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Mind Control, Possession, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyNiamh/pseuds/FairyNiamh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micki knew better than to try it on, but how could she resist?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Idea

She searched the boxes in the basement for the comb that had been listed on the Curious Goods manifest. She had told Ryan that the likelihood of it being down here was slim to none. Of course, all the ass had to say to that was 'good'. That boy needed to learn that not everything Jack said was true. She was tough and could look after herself. She had pulled his ass, and Jack’s, out of the frying pan more than once. The more she searched the more frustrated she became with the idiotic search.

She snatched up an old cigar box and opened it. "Yes," she cheered softly as she opened a cigar box and saw the pearl encrusted gold comb nestled in red velvet cloth. As she lifted the comb she could not recall a more beautiful sight.

Micki knew better, she truly did. Still, what harm could a hair comb cause? It was far too beautiful a piece, it shouldn't be hidden in a box like that, and she could not resist. The moment she touched it she could see the perfect white pearls elegantly holding back her red locks.

She would be beautiful, the most beautiful in all of the world. All she needed to do was wear it. She felt a small trickle of fear crawl up her spine, but she was positive as soon as she wore the comb, all her fears would disappear.

She shook her head, grabbed the boar bristle brush, and set to making her hair knot free and perfect for the antique comb. She pulled back the top of her hair, carefully slid the comb into its proper place and promptly lost herself.

She could see and hear herself, but she had no control over her body. How had she been that stupid? She knew about curses. Hell, she was even searching for an item. She just couldn’t remember what she was supposed to find.

“Listen to you yelling like the commoner you are, are you always this vocal? It is quite disturbing. Well, let us see how we look,” the person inhabiting her body said as she walked to a full length mirror.

“How scandalous, you are running around in your under garments. Do you not have a serf who can properly see to your attire? No, this is proper attire for this time. My court would faint if they saw me clothed in such rags as these, and look at your hair. It looks as if you could house a colony of mice in here. I suppose you have no serf to see to your hair either.”

‘We don’t have serfs, servants, or slaves. We dress ourselves, cook our own food, and do our own hair. Oh, and there is _nothing_ wrong with my hair. Now then, just who do you think you are?’ Micki was possibly losing her mind.

“You mean you took my jewelry, even placed it within your locks. Yet you do not know who I am?” the person possessing her challenged.

‘You kind of barged your way in before I could do a proper research on the item. So, this is all your fault, not mine,’ Micki ranted from within.

“How very true. Very well, since your body will be playing host to me until I can acquire a proper vessel I shall grant you the knowledge of my name. I am Countess Darya Nikolayevna Saltykova. You shall help me restore what was taken from me,” Darya informed her.

‘I remember reading about you. You killed all those poor people,’ Micki replied in horror. She wanted nothing to do with this courtly nut job, why did she try the comb on?

“They were serfs, not people.” Darya hissed. “They were there to see to my every whim. Each of the fools I punished were slow, lazy, and it satisfied my whim at the time. Because of this they locked me away for murder, never mind that the men in my country had done far worse. At least I didn't have any bastard children running around and you _cannot_ murder livestock. Little did those false royal fools know that a gypsy I had sent for offered me a way to lessen my sentence. I only had to die so she could secure my soul in these hair clasps. Not a hardship, I assure you. It would release me from the tediousness that had set in at the tower. Of course the old hag kept my clasps, and me hostage. Never trust gypsies, especially when they don’t ask for payment. You only have the one, we must find the others so I can carry out my revenge.”

Micki made a noise of frustration before informing her jailer. ‘You are seriously crazy lady. Just you wait, Ryan or Jack will figure it out and they will stop you. They will throw you back down into the deepest pits of hell and I will laugh when they do.’

Darya laughed at Micki’s threats “I doubt that. I am sure I can charm both men. It is not a difficult task to charm a man after all. I am certain that this ‘Jack’ and ‘Ryan’ will fall under my spell just as swiftly as you did and then they will help me, or they will die. Neither of the choices bother me, though ultimately they will both die as will you. After all there is a cost to coming back to life and I must pay the devil his due.”

‘You are one sick woman and I swear- ‘ Micki started

“You swear what? You are not even in possession of your own body. You have forfeited your right to live or to threaten me. Worry not though, you will get to see the Great Russian Nobility rise again and I shall be at its head.” Darya said proudly as she lifted her chin in defiance.

“Hey, Micki, you down here?” came a voice from up the stairs.

‘Ryan, don’t come down here. She’ll kill you!’ Micki screamed from within.

“Yes, did you acquire the item you were looking for?” Darya queried with her head held high.

“Jeez Mickss, I thought you got out of that snooty phase when your lawyer left you and no, I didn’t find it. How about you? Any luck on your end?” Ryan asked rolling his eyes at Micki.

Darya/Micki laughed a soft tinkling laugh. “Oh Ryan, you do know how to make me laugh. I was as successful as you were. I fear I did not find the item. Not that the item matters, not with you down here to protect me.”

“Right,” Ryan replied as he fidgeted and paced around the basement. “You sure you’re alright? Did you hit your head or something?”

Darya/Micki simply smiled. “I am in perfect health. Though I would not be adverse to the possibility of you holding me.”

“Look, I will admit that when I first saw you I was ready to get your name and number. Then I found out you were my cousin… and we both know that is a ‘no go’ in the book of Ryan,” he stated as he held up his hands in surrender.

“It certainly is not all that uncommon for siblings or cousins to marry. Surely a quick romp with me would not bruise your delicate psyche,” Darya/Micki whispered wrapping her arms around Ryan and rubbing against his chest.

Ryan rolled his eyes and plucked the comb Darya/Micki’s hair and watched her fall to the floor like a marionette whose strings were cut. “Jack warned you not to wear it Micki and you hit on me! Creepy much?” Ryan complained as he carefully wrapped the comb.

“It wasn’t me, it was the Countess. You know I would never hit on you. Why did you let me fall down?” Micki asked from her seated position.

Ryan frowned at his cousin. “Securing this comb came first, plus again; you hit on me. Which is wrong, wrong, wrong. I’m going to tell Jack on you.”

“Tattle-tale,” Micki muttered as she pulled herself from the floor. She had known better than to put that accursed comb in her hair. Jack had even warned her from coming on this hunt; as women were more susceptible to its powers. She had accused him of being sexist, to which he had rolled his eyes out. Well, at least she still had her goofy cousin to keep her safe-ish. “How did you know it wasn’t me?”

“You hit on me,” Ryan replied flatly.

Micki rolled her eyes again. At least Ryan was learning to think with his head. “Thanks,” was all she could say as she followed Ryan out of the basement then to the car.

In spite of the small possession problem, it hadn’t been too bad a day. At least she had kept the Countess from killing anyone and Ryan had kept her from going too far with him. How had her life come to this? Oh, right, her Uncle had dragged her in with his will. Really, if her Uncle wasn’t dead, she would kill him for leaving such a mess for them to clean up.

~Fin~


End file.
